


The Evolution of Kyra James

by SkinnyBlackGirl



Series: Come Back in One Piece - Kyra & Juice Main Series [2]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Drama & Romance, F/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2020-10-21 19:38:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20698796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkinnyBlackGirl/pseuds/SkinnyBlackGirl
Summary: Deciding to date a tough-but-sweet biker? Easy. Becoming an old lady to a SAMCRO officer? Not so much. After making it official with Juice, Kyra James is confronted with the ins and outs of club life--including loving a man who routinely keeps secrets. Juice--used to being SAMCRO's lovable doofus--is ready to step up and be a man. But he may have a lot to learn about what that means.The sequel to "The Sweetest Taboo."





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

** _Kyra_ **

Kyra's habit of Saturday morning cleaning carried over from her childhood in Oakland. Every Saturday, her mother woke up at the crack of dawn and filled their two-bedroom apartment with the sounds of Anita Baker, Luther Vandross, Prince, Michael Jackson and Sade; and the smell of Clorox Bleach and Pine-Sol. Starting early was important, as Saturday was the busiest day of the week at the salon and she couldn't leave the house until it was spotless. When Kyra was a little girl, Rhonda would let her sleep in or watch cartoons, giving her the small task of cleaning her room. By the time she was a teenager, they'd moved into a two-story townhouse and it was Kyra's job to have it spotless from top to bottom by the time Rhonda got home from work. At 26, the practice was so ingrained in her routine that she thought nothing of the alarm that went off every Saturday at 9:30 AM. She simply rolled out of bed, slipped into stretch pants and a T-shirt, turned on some 90's R&B, and got to work.

Juice usually slept through the first part of her cleaning ritual. He'd been at her place for a month and a half, initially healing from a bullet wound in his lower back. After a couple of weeks, he wasn't back on his Harley or work at Teller-Morrow, but he could walk and drive pretty well. They didn't officially discuss their living arrangement, but one overnight bag at a time, Juice went from having a drawer in her bedroom to occupying 50% of her closet and bathroom counter spaces.

Sharing space revealed things about Juice that she hadn't seen in the first three months that they'd casually dated--namely how downright goofy he could be. Once he could move around a little, Kyra came home to a new catastrophe at least twice a week. There was the day that he put Dawn dish liquid in the dishwasher had the entire kitchen floor covered in suds when she walked in the door. Then, there was the time toward the end of his recovery when cabin fever had set in and he took apart various electronics in the apartment because he wanted to see how they worked. Her blender, hairdryer, and the Nintendo Wii fell prey to his curiosity that day and though he put everything back together perfectly, coming home to mangled appliances rattled her nerves. He also rewired her satellite service in a way that somehow allowed her to have all of the premium channels and free wireless Internet. "Babe. You're already a convicted felon," she said once she calmed down. "Let's not draw unnecessary attention by stealing cable."

Kyra was on her knees with rubber-gloved hands in the stove when she heard a knock at the door. Tara had called to say she'd be over to check on Juice in twenty minutes but when Kyra glanced at the clock, forty minutes had gone by. "Mommy troubles?" Kyra asked when she opened the door to the frazzled doctor. Since the shooting, Tara made weekly visits to monitor his progress and the two developed a friendly relationship. "I'm glad you're sticking around," Tara said on her first visit. Kyra knew exactly what she'd meant. It was good to have a female presence in SAMCRO who wasn't a Crow Eater, porn star, or overbearing matriarch.

"Yeah," the doctor gave a small sigh as she smiled. "Ever had breakfast with a ten-month-old and a two-year-old?"

Kyra imagined loud wails and splotches of baby food soaring across her kitchen. "Say no more." She motioned toward the kitchen table. "Wanna have a seat? Get some coffee? Juice is still in the shower so can chill for a minute." She watched the tired woman pour coffee and wondered how Tara managed it all. Two kids. Her job as a surgeon. Taking care of Jax. Acting as the club's unofficial medic. Then Kyra wondered, for the millionth time, how she fit into Juice's life once he was back in full swing with SAMCRO.

Tara sipped her coffee. "So where's he at this week?"

Kyra flashed back to the previous evening. They had slow, careful sex the first few weeks following his injury and Juice used the opportunity to really learn her body. As he did with the appliances--carefully testing and studying every inch and making mental notes about the reactions he received. He learned which spots liked pressure and which spots needed a softer touch. He knew which reflexes meant "go faster," "slow down," and "Oh my God, please don't move." She became a video game and he learned the cheat code because he could press here, lick there and send her to heaven and back on command. So she was surprised when he gave it to her good and hard last night. She didn't realize how much she missed his aggressive side. "He's good," she finally answered, a sly grin sliding across her lips.

"Well," Tara replied with a smirk, "if you didn't hurt him too bad last night, he should be good to go."

_Thank God, _Kyra thought. The sooner he got out of the house, the sooner he could stop wrecking the joint.

"And how are you doing?" Tara asked. "With...everything else?"

"It's fine right now," Kyra said. With Juice in recovery, Kyra didn't have to deal with the club too much. Gemma stopped scowling at her when she stopped at Teller Morrow, so that was progress. When the guys called the apartment, they no longer grunted quick greetings, instead offering a friendlier "Hey Kyra. Your old man around?" Their calls brought her back to reality: she was perfectly comfortable as his girlfriend but she still had to get into the business of being his old lady. "We'll see how the rest goes once he's back to work."

** _Juice_ **

"Look who finally got his walking papers," Bobby greeted Juice as he bounced into the clubhouse. He'd been to the clubhouse for meetings and to hang out since the shooting, but it was his first day back on his bike and back to work full-time in the garage. He wasn't a morning person, but he beat Kyra's alarm to make sure he started the day off right. One hour. Three rounds. Each with her pinned to the mattress while he stroked her. Fast. Slow. Gentle. Rough. After three orgasms, she was sweaty and breathless with the hair that she'd taken great pains to straighten the night before in a frizzy mess all over her head. When his woman, who anal to the point of bitchiness about her hair, whipped it all into a bun with a giddy smile on her face, Juice knew he did his job.

The ride to work was just as satisfying; the wind at his face, the engine roaring in his ears, the road disappearing beneath him. It was fresh oxygen, breathing new life into his body. These simple tasks--properly fucking his girlfriend and riding his bike--reminded him that he was a man instead of a helpless child trapped in his girlfriend's apartment. Being restricted reminded him too much of Stockton and if he didn't keep his mind busy, he'd spend hours reliving those nightmarish fourteen months. His efforts to distract himself earned death glares from Kyra and though she never said it, he knew she thought he was a fucking idiot--a look he knew well from his brothers. _She didn't look at me like that this morning, though_, he thought with a smile.

"Hey guys," Juice said cheerfully, accepting hugs and handshakes from Bobby, Koz, Chibs, and Tig.

Koz landed a playful slap on the back of his head. "Took ya long enough to get back, shithead. What happened? _Beyonce_ wouldn't let you out of the house?"

"I don't blame ya, kid," Chibs chimed in. "I'd take my time too if I had a li'l lovely like that nursing me back to health."

Tig snorted. "Yeah, I bet she gave you some _serious_ physical therapy. Sure you can handle all that?"

Juice chuckled, his mind going back to his morning at Kyra's. "Hey, hey, hey! I know she's incredibly hot, but that's my old lady you're talkin' about. Save all your dirty thoughts for the sweet butts." He paused. "And yes. I handle that _very _well."

"Hey!" Clay's voice boomed over their laughter as he entered the clubhouse. "If you girls are done gossiping, I've got cars in the bays that need to be fixed." He stopped to hug Juice. "Welcome back, kid. Clock in and get to work, but come see me later. I've got some shit I need you to take care of."

Juice found new joy in changing oil, rotating tires, and switching out spark plugs in engines. He tore through all of his work, only stopping to occasionally to shoot the shit with hangarounds who welcomed him back to work. He was still in a zone when Gemma walked up to him in the garage and pulled him in for a hug. "Welcome back," she said.

He knew what was coming: she was ready to grill him about Kyra. He got lucky, being knocked out when Gemma questioned Kyra after his shooting, but he prolonged the interrogation as long as he could. Now, he was cornered. "Hey Gem," he said with an easy smile.

"Talk to you for a minute?"

He laughed. As if he had a choice. "Sure, wassup?"

She folded her arms and leaned against a '99 Ford Taurus. "So you and Neeta's niece... you guys the real deal?"

He looked down, kicking a stray lug nut with the front of his boot. _She won't take you seriously if you act like a pussy. _He forced his eyes to meet hers as he nodded his head. "Yup. Looks that way."

Gemma shook her head. "She seems a little _uptight_ for the shit that goes on around here, don't you think?"

Juice sighed. "She's not some stuck up yuppie, Gem. She grew up in a tough neighborhood, knows her way around a gun. She can handle a lot more than you think." He hesitated to say more, but he needed to be clear. "I know you're doing what you've gotta do as Clay's old lady, but she's in my life. I'm not changing my mind about that."

He could read the surprise on Gemma's face. "Okay," she finally said. "Well, we're doing a club dinner tomorrow night at eight. Bring her. She cook?"

_That was easy. _"Yeah."

"Good. Tell her to be at the house at seven with a dish. She wants to be an old lady? She's gotta help in the kitchen."

"I'll let her know," Juice said before Gemma walked away. As he returned to the Ford, he realized that dinner with the club was the tip of the iceberg for Kyra. He was thankful she had time to adjust during a quiet time for SAMCRO, but he wondered how long it would be before she got an emergency crash course.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kyra's invited to her first club dinner and has another face-off with SAMCRO's Queen Bee.

**Kyra**

Kyra pulled up to the Morrow house at 6:59 pm. The large ranch-style home tucked in one of the prettier corners of Charming loomed over her as she approached the door, reeking of upper-middle class. She saw Gemma’s expensive sports car and took note of Clay’s Rolex, but she figured their home would look as humble and blue-collar as the Teller-Morrow lot. Not so much, she thought as balanced a casserole dish in her left hand and rang the doorbell.

Except for Gemma's Cadillac CTS Coupe that sat in the garage, the driveway was empty. Kyra had a feeling that she was the only one who'd received the 7:00 pm arrival time. This would be a one-on-one meeting with the Queen--a "to be continued" on the interrogation she'd endured the night of Juice's shooting.  _ This is some mean girl sorority shit.  _ She was the new girl, and thus she would be hazed until she proved herself. She'd had to prove that she was tough enough growing up in the hood, prove that she was smart enough when she transferred to private school, prove that she was strong enough when her mother was diagnosed with cancer and she was left to manage her hair salon, prove that she was professional enough to hold her own at Oswald Industries, and now prove that she could handle SAMCRO.

Gemma answered the door wearing an open oversized flannel shirt with a white camisole underneath. Between Gemma and Tara, these women loved their flannels and clunky boots. It worked for them, but Kyra did not plan to adopt the old lady uniform. Gemma's hawk eyes registered Kyra's get up. She went casual with a pair of leggings, a hip-length white T-shirt and a boyfriend blazer to shield against the crisp November evening chill. Her hair, still frizzy from her three-round romp with Juice the previous morning, was pulled back into a bushy ponytail. "I see you share your aunt's knack for punctuality. Come in."

Kyra, back erect and eyes steady, followed Gemma into the house. "I made broccoli casserole for fifteen to twenty people. I hope that's enough." Neeta, who was at weekly Bible study, advised her to cook for twenty.

"That's fine. You can set it on the counter right there with the other sides. Once you get situated, you can help me bread and fry the pork chops."

"No problem." Kyra looked around, noting the Martha Stewart vibe of the house before joining Gemma in the kitchen. Flour littered the counter and the faint sound of Aerosmith hummed under the simmer of the pork chops frying on the stove. She almost asked when Tara and Lyla would arrive but decided against it. She didn’t want to appear nervous.

They worked quietly at first, only breaking the silence to request an item across the counter. Kyra carefully laid each pork chop in cornmeal, coating both sides before placing it in the skillet, falling into a trance so deep she forgot she was in the lioness's den until Gemma cut through the quiet. "Haven't seen Juice around the clubhouse much. You two living together?."

_ Keep your answers quick and light. _ "If he doesn't live there, his stuff certainly does. I can't walk out into my bedroom without tripping over a boot."

Gemma snorted. "I know the feeling. After seventeen years, I still can't get Clay to put his damn underwear in the hamper instead of leaving it on the bathroom floor."

Kyra responded with a nod and a smile, bracing herself for Gemma's next blow.

"So Neeta tells me you don't have a lot of family."

Kyra shook her head. "Nope. I lost my mother four years ago. My grandparents passed when I was ten or so."

"What about your dad?"

"Never met him. Last I heard, he was in the Midwest. Cleveland or Detroit, I think."

There was a long silence before Gemma spoke again. "You know, something's been bothering me about this thing with you and Juice."

"What's that?" Kyra replied, her tone even.

Gemma kept her eyes down, pretending to concentrate on seasoning a pork chop. "You're a smart girl. Got a college degree. Nice office job. I'd just expect a girl like you to be somewhere living the Cosby fantasy. You know; a black guy in a suit with two point five kids and the house with a picket fence," Gemma, stretched her arms, placing her palms on the counter. "Or are you a good girl with daddy issues who gets off on bad boy dick? You wouldn't be the first of those to come around here."

This bitch was unbelievable. Kyra looked up, eyes locked on Gemma's. "You want to ask me a serious question or keep playing amateur psychologist?"

Gemma crossed the kitchen to remove a batch of finished pork chops from a pan. "I'm trying to figure out what you expect out of this relationship. I hope you don't think you can save little Juan Carlos from himself," she said with a sigh.

"What I do expect?" Kyra let out a snort of her own. "Consistent dick, grocery money, and the occasional foot rub" she countered. "As far as trying to save Juice… The man is who he is. Other than his annoying habit of leaving hair in my sink when he shaves, I have no desire to change him."

Gemma walked back toward the counter. "What happens when the feds come snooping around and want to know about his extra-curricular activities? Start offering you a sweet witness protection deal to rat on him?"

"Where I grew up, we learned early not to talk to cops. I don't snitch; especially not on a man I share a bed with."

"Fine," Gemma said, closing in on Kyra's personal space. "You and Juice seem to think you know what you're getting into, so I won't stop you." Her eyes narrowed. "But let me be clear: I get an  _ inkling _ of an idea that you're jeopardizing this club in any way and you’ll have serious problems on your hands."

Kyra's hands balled up into fists. She was ready for verbal sparring, but invading her personal space was something else. In another world, this warranted a hard push and a warning to get the fuck out of her face. Here, she had to show restraint, despite wanting to slap Gemma into the middle of next week.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Gemma provoked. "You thinkin' about beating the brakes off of me?"

Hearing her threat fired back at her penetrated Kyra's steely exterior. She swallowed the crack that crept up her throat. "Excuse me?"

Gemma held her glare. "I didn't stutter. Do not interfere with Juice and this club. Are we clear?"

She wanted to tell her that she didn’t give a fuck about Gemma’s little club. She was in no rush to embrace a band of crazy-ass white outlaw bikers; all she wanted was respect as the lady in Juice's life. The rant sat on the tip of her tongue, but logic won out when she realized that Gemma's threat was a tentative nod of approval. If Kyra stayed out of SAMCRO business, the Queen would stay out of hers. "Crystal."

Gemma nodded, moving back toward the stove. "Good." The menacing tone in her voice vanished. "If you handle everything the way you handled that crow eater in the clubhouse, you just might make it."

Kyra's mind flashed back to her run-in with a sweet butt outside of Juice's room the week after his shooting: "I'm gonna make this real easy for you. You can go back to whatever you were doing or you can keep talkin' to me crazy, and I can beat the brakes off you in front of this whole damn clubhouse." So Gemma saw the exchange? Good. The Queen needed to know that she wasn't a pushover. "About that," Kyra started. "Is that the last I'm going to hear from one of those chicks or do I need to watch my back?"

"They’ll do whatever your man lets them do. You mark your territory so the whores know not to do it in your face. Gotta let them know where they stand: beneath you." Gemma placed a pan of freshly fried pork chops on the counter. "You're new, so the ballsy ones might mouth off. That happens? Handle it."

The "wifey vs. hoes" ideology was all too familiar to her. Running her mother's beauty shop, she witnessed too many side chicks confronted by angry wives, baby mothers, and live-in girlfriends. The scene had played out in her life, as well. She'd never forget looking into the enraged face of her first love's wife the day after her mother's funeral. Right before Kyra landed a right hook on the woman's left eye.

Now she was on the other side of the line and understood Gemma's advice more than she wanted to admit. Juice stepping out with a crow eater--if it happened--would be nothing short of karma kicking her ass. She would give Juice hell about it, for sure, and eventually forgive and forget. But the first chick to flaunt an affair with Juice in her face would get laid out if only to serve as an example to the rest.

Tara and Lyla arrived between seven-thirty and seven-forty-five, confirming Kyra's earlier suspicion. Tara was her usual flustered self, blowing in and racing to the second floor to check on her boys before joining the women in the kitchen. Lyla floated in, with her easy smile and angelic face, followed by three of the most somber children Kyra had ever seen. She didn’t know Lyra well, but she wondered what led the innocent-faced woman into pornography and what on earth those kids witnessed in their short lives that made them look like Children of the Corn.

"Since we've got a few minutes before the guys arrive, we can go over some of this wedding stuff," Lyla said, taking a seat at the table while Kyra arranged the plates and napkins and noticed Tara sit at the end opposite the other women. When she'd laid the final place setting, Kyra moved back toward the kitchen to busy herself with the food while they discussed their plans but was interrupted by Tara asking what she knew about wedding planning.

_ Not a damn thing. _ But reading her new friend's face, she saw a small plea behind her eyes. This was about more than helping Kyra fit in with the old ladies. "Not much, but if I'm needed I can help."

The women exchanged glances before Lyla spoke. "You can help Tara with the rehearsal dinner, Kyra. Gemma and I are working on the wedding and my friends from work are handling the bachelorette party."

Kyra bit back a comment about porn stars and bachelorette parties as she sat down next to Tara. She read relief on the doctor's face and gave her a subtle nod. As the women chatted about beach locations, dress fittings, and dinner menus, Kyra wondered, once more, what the hell she got herself into. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flashback to his prospecting days and his first out-of-state run since getting shot remind Juice he wants to be more than everybody's favorite little fuck-up.

**Juice**

"Jesus Christ, kid, you are whipped," Chibs quipped as Juice pulled up to the liquor store. They were running a few minutes late for Gemma's dinner, but he insisted on stopping around the corner from the house to pick up a bottle of Merlot for Kyra. Knowing her attitude and Gemma’s...well _ Gemma_, he figured she'd be in dire need of wine when he showed up.

"Dude. Wine makes her happy. Happy women feed and fuck you. I like food and fucking. Therefore, I buy wine."

Chibs chuckled and revved up his bike. "Aye. Guess you're not as dumb as ya look."

Juice settled into the seat of his Dyna. "Blow me."

To his surprise, Kyra answered the door when he and Chibs arrived at Gemma's. Her eyes sparkled to life when she saw him; confirming his suspicions that Gemma ran her through the wringer. No matter how well Kyra thought she controlled her emotions, her eyes always gave her away. Even if only for a moment. 

Chibs walked in first. "Hey, darlin’. You ladies musta been workin' hard. Smells like heaven in here."

Kyra offered a polite smile, making room for the older man to walk by. "Hi, Chibs." When Juice tried to follow suit, she stopped him in his tracks, placing a hand on her hip and turning her smile into a playful grin. His eyes moved down to the black leggings that hugged her curves and remembered Koz's earlier teasing. She is kinda shaped like Beyonce. Her body often reminded him of watching girls with Baby Phat cats stitched on their asses strut down Queens Boulevard when he was a teenager.

"You owe me," she whispered. "Big time."

_ I can think of a few ways to pay you back, _he thought and bit back a devilish smirk. If they were anywhere other than Gemma and Clay's, he would have pulled her outside for a quickie against the side of the house. He held up the Merlot. "This a good start?"

Kyra planted a feather-light kiss on his lips. "Ah, babe. Ya know me so well," she said, pulling the bottle from his hands. "Now go sit down for dinner so I can fix your plate like a good little ol' lady."

He didn't miss the sarcasm that dripped from her last statement as she shooed him toward the table where the rest of the club had already started eating. Chibs was right; the entire house smelled delicious. Juice caught whiffs of buttered bread and Gemma's infamous fried pork chops. His nose picked up on another familiar scent and figured it was whatever concoction Kyra cooked at the apartment the previous evening. She brought him his plate; pork chops, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn on a cob and her broccoli casserole, accompanied by a frosty bottle of Budweiser.

As conversations buzzed around the table, Juice thought back to his first SAMCRO dinner five years ago. It took three years to earn the Prospect kutte he proudly sported that night, so he was happy to have a foot in the door; even if he was at the bottom of the totem pole. 

Gemma made baked chicken that night and he recalled wiping his hands on his jeans every five minutes to keep his silverware from sliding through his clammy fingers and landing in Bobby's plate across from him. Though he expressed his interest in prospecting to Jax, they assigned Tig to be his sponsor and he knew it was because they doubted his toughness. Based on his work around the garage with the cars and their computer system, they knew he was more machine-savvy than anyone in SAMCRO. They just needed to know that he wasn't a pussy. What better way to find out than to place him under the watchful eye of their psychopathic enforcer. Tig rarely said anything to him that wasn't a command followed by an insult, so the dinner, where there would be an actual conversation, was a welcome relief for Juice.

He observed more than he spoke. After working with the guys for three years, he had a feel for their personalities, but seeing the bikers in a domestic setting was new. They laughed a lot--mostly at him--which didn't bother him because it came with the territory of prospecting. Gemma buzzed around the house in Queen Bee fashion, making it obvious that she pretended to let Clay run things at Teller-Morrow, but there was no such pretense in their home. Jax's wife Wendy lacked the queenly air, despite being married to the club's VP. The Crow tattoo on the inside of her forearm was the only thing that distinguished her from the small handful of Crow Eaters who helped in the kitchen. Then again, Jax probably couldn't tell the difference either with the way he ran through sweetbutts whenever Wendy turned her back.

What resonated with Juice that first night was how normal SAMCRO was behind closed doors. He never had a big family; growing up as an only child in Queens then moving to Pasadena with his aunt and uncle who didn't have any children of their own. The warmth in the Morrow house gave credence to what Jax told him about prospecting: "Once you're patched, the members are your family. This charter's your home." As he sipped his beer and took it all in, he knew he'd survive prospecting under Tig. The power, respect, and women had led him to SAMCRO, but the promise of loyalty and family kept him sane during his year as a prospect.

As he snapped back into the present, the scene was a bit surreal to him. He'd been to a million club dinners in the last five years, but this was the first time he didn't feel like the goofy kid brother. Part of it was from his time in Stockton. Spending fourteen months watching not only your back but the backs of five other people, twenty-four hours a day, hardened a man. But Kyra played a role, too. She wasn't some eager-to-please Crow Eater fetching his beers with hopes of getting status in SAMCRO, but a woman who had plenty going on in her own life, tending to him because she deemed him worthy of the privilege. He gave her thigh an appreciative squeeze under the table and she tossed him a wink over the rim of her wine glass. He screwed up a lot of shit in his lifetime, but so far, she looked like one of the best decisions he ever made.

"So let me get this straight: Opie's wife died and two months later, he meets Lyla on set at a porn studio and moves her and Piper into his house with his kids? And this is the wedding I've been asked to help plan?"

Juice followed Kyra into the apartment and set his keys down on the counter. He spent the drive home from Gemma’s catching her up on the whos and whats of the club. "It sounds kinda shitty when you put it that way, but yeah."

She shook her head as she plopped down on the couch. "Jesus Christ," she whispered. "You mind if I ask how Opie's wife died?"

Dammit. Dinner went well, with the club showing Kyra the respect and courtesy granted to all old ladies. He could tell she was forming a fast friendship with Tara and even Gemma's tone was less harsh by the end of the night. Now after a smooth, drama-free evening, she had to ask a difficult question. Part of their deal at the beginning of the relationship was that she wouldn't dig too deeply into his club business, but when she did ask, she expected the absolute truth, minus any sugar-coating. He sighed. "Mistaken identity," he finally answered, avoiding her eyes. "She was driving Opie's truck and caught some bullets that were meant for him."

Her eyebrows shot up. "No wonder those poor kids look so out of it. That's some traumatizing shit."

_ Doesn't help that Ope was fresh off a five-year bid when Donna died, _ Juice thought.

"Remind me to never, under any circumstances, drive your car."

He thought about the vintage 1975 Monte Carlo he kept parked on the Teller-Morrow lot. Before he went to Stockton it was a restoration project, but he hadn’t touched it since coming home. Now, it was a piece of shit he used to run low profile club errands. "Hell, I barely drive that thing." Still, he made a mental note to never park the car at the apartment. Better safe than sorry. "So how'd it go with Gemma?" 

Kyra rolled her eyes. "That bitch..." she started. "She hazed me, but I handled it. I'm basically on 'probation.' If I stay out of club business, she'll stay out of our business. At least that's what she said. She got in my face for like five seconds though and it took the will of God not to slap the shit out of her--but I behaved.” 

Juice sat next to her on the couch, placing her feet in his lap. "That's my girl," he said, kneading the arch on her right foot with his thumbs.

"Wait, I forgot. Opie told me to ask you something..."

"What's that?"

"Who's Deon?"

The name sent an immediate chill through his body. Deon would forever be a reminder of the most humiliating moment of his life: being used as bait for a gay snitch when he was locked up in county. How the hell did he explain that shit? _ Well babe, see the club needed protection in jail so I had to pretend I was gonna take one up the ass from a huge black guy but I promise I'm not gay and would have kicked his ass before I let that shit happen._ He was going to fucking kill Ope. "Remember when you said I don’t have to tell you everything?"

Her dark brown eyes narrowed as she replied. "Yeeeeah..."

"I promise that Deon isn't an ex-girlfriend, or somebody I fucked, or somebody I killed, or someone you'll ever have to worry about. Just do me a favor and never ever bring that up again."

It was his first time back on the road for an out-of-state run since the shooting and this one was a big deal. With all the heat from the new city government and county sheriffs, the club had to be extra careful with their gun runs: blood drives, alternative routes, and a reduced number of bikes on the roads sticking to counties with SOA-friendly law-enforcement. Clay tasked Juice with researching routes and setting up relationships through other charters to get it done and it was his first big responsibility since telling Clay that he was ready to step up. Miles and Phil were patched, so he was no longer the club's junior member. He was ready to prove himself.

Jax, Tig, Opie, Hap and Juice would make the trip. Clay reasoned that Charming sheriffs wouldn't expect the club to make any major moves without the president, but Juice knew that Clay was saving himself from taking the long ride to Tacoma. Fourteen months in Stockton without access to cortisone shots did a number on his arthritic hands and while he was still able to ride, lately he delegated more tasks to Jax; especially when they required out-of-state runs.

Teller-Morrow was busy with usual pre-run activity. Club members, Crow Eaters, sweetbutts, and male hangarounds littered the parking lot, ready to give the guys a proper send-off. Gemma and Lyla were perched on a picnic bench near the clubhouse entrance. He figured that like Kyra, Tara was at work. Kyra had been strange in the days leading up to the run. Fidgety and super nice. Syrupy sweet, even, without a single smart-ass comment. The previous evening, she cooked a meal worthy of a king: steak and lobster tails with garlic mashed potatoes and steamed broccoli, right before she led him to the bedroom and tried to fuck the living daylights out of him. On top of that, she woke him up that morning with a blow job that made him think she'd been watching his CaraCara DVD collection and taking notes. Not that he would ever complain about gourmet meals, enthusiastic fucking, or waking up to great head, but something about all of it felt forced.

She didn’t mention stopping at the garage before she left for work, so he was shocked when she whipped her Mustang into the lot at 12:15. She strutted across the concrete with her usual confident swagger, looking like she meant business in a navy blue pinstriped pantsuit and her signature black pumps. There were no lines or signs of worry on her face as she approached him on his Dyna, but her eyes gave it away. Something was wrong. "Hey," Juice said, planting his usual peck on her cheek. "Everything okay? I thought you didn't take lunch until one."

"I know," she said, her eyes dancing between his and the ground in front of her. "I decided to take an early lunch so I could see you off."

Shifting eyes? What the fuck was going on with her? "Look at me." He grabbed her hands and held them at his sides. "What's wrong?"

"It's just..." She rolled her eyes as if irritated at the words coming out of her mouth. "Last time you went on a run..."

_Last time I went on a run, I got shot._ _So that's what it is_. The Stepford Wife/porn star routine was because she was afraid that he wouldn't make it back. He sighed. "Look, babe--"

She held up her hand. "Don't," she said. "I know this is part of the deal and I'm being ridiculous. I'm sorry."

_ So she does get nervous._ Juice didn't know what to say. She hated false promises so he couldn't give her the corny "I promise I'll be back" routine. He took that risk every time he went out on the road.

Kyra exhaled. "Just do your best to get back to me in one piece, okay?" She paused. She was struggling with her words again. She exhaled once more, letting her shoulders rise and fall dramatically. "You know I love you, right?"

_Wow._ It dawned on him that this was the first time either of them said the words. Of course, she loved him. She didn't strike him as the kind of woman who'd go to the lengths she had: inviting him into her home, cooking his meals, and adjusting to his non-traditional lifestyle, for just anybody. Since he assumed that she loved him, he naturally assumed she knew he loved her. He knew that morning in the clubhouse after the shooting when he asked her to be his old lady. He smiled, pulled her closer, and rested his forehead on hers. "When you put it that way, I guess I don't have a choice, do I?" He leaned down and pressed his lips onto hers. She tried to deepen the kiss, but he pulled away. He wouldn't let her kiss him as if they'd never see each other again. "I love you, too," he whispered.

The bikes revved up around him. It was time to ride out. He kissed her again, this time slipping in a little tongue. "Two days?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yup. Two days."

She gave him a small smile. "Okay. Go do your thing," she said, stepping away from the row of Harleys.

Jax settled on the bike next to him. "Everything aiight?" he asked.

"She'll be fine," Juice replied. "She's just gotta get used to this part."

"Yeah, so do you."

Juice frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jax fastened his helmet. "That's the thing about having an old lady. It's not just about you and the club anymore. You don't make it back, that's her burden. No matter how cool they are with the Life, they never want to get that phone call. You tell her you're comin' back, you gotta make it back, bro."

When he was a prospect, Tig advised him against an old lady. "Bitches throw you off your game, man. Gotta stay focused." But as Juice revved up his Dyna, he realized it would be the opposite. When it was just him out on the road, he was only responsible for himself. Whatever happened, happened. But he wasn't that carefree boy anymore. He was a man with a responsibility to the club and the woman he'd invited into his life. That meant no goofy slip-ups. She expected him back in two days. He wouldn't make her wait in vain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Kyra**

Kyra usually loved Charming’s quiet atmosphere, but as she sat on her living room floor surrounded by CPA study guides and flashcards on a Friday night, she resented the fact that she didn't live in a bigger city. With Juice on a run until Sunday, she had two whole days to waste in her mind, predicting worse case scenarios. She tried to distract herself by studying for her upcoming CPA exam, but her thoughts combined with the quiet prevented her from retaining any information. She needed a drink and conversation interesting enough to distract her from her thoughts. She picked up her Blackberry and wondered what Tara was up to. Knowing her, she was either at St. Thomas or at home knee-deep in diapers and baby toys. Kyra was pleasantly surprised when she called her new friend and found out that she had the night off. "Well, I've got food and liquor over here that I'd love for you to help me get rid of," she offered.

"Actually, that sounds great," Tara replied. "I can drop the boys off at Gemma's and be over in about an hour."

An hour and a half later, the two women were stretched out on Kyra's living room floor, downing rum and Cokes and sharing a large pan of lasagna. After they nearly polished off a bottle of Malibu, Kyra brought out a couple of Juice's leftover joints to keep their buzzes afloat. She was shocked when Tara lit up first and toked like a professional. She was even more shocked when Tara got up to refill her glass and she spotted the top of a bird's head tattooed on her lower back. "Wow, Doc. Never figured you for the tramp stamp type."

Tara reached back and caressed the tattoo. "Oh, that? I was seventeen and high out of my damned mind. Jax and I were at a party at the clubhouse. Hap was doing tattoos and it kinda just happened."

"You mind if I take a closer look?" The doctor lifted her shirt and allowed her to study the ink. It was a crow that looked similar to the one Lyla sported on her upper arm. _ So this is the SAMCRO Old Lady tat. _ When she looked closer, she noticed words under the crow's wings. It took her a moment to make out the calligraphy, but when she did, she broke into a fit of laughter. Not only did Tara have the SAMCRO ink, but Jax’s name was tattooed under it. “Young Jackson must've laid some mean pipe to earn that."

Tara's cheeks turned a deep red. "Yeah, he was--well, is--pretty amazing in that department."

Kyra took a hit off her joint. "He was your first, right?"

"Yeah," Tara shook her head. "Lost my virginity in that damn clubhouse if you can believe it.” 

Kyra grinned. "Sounds fun. My first was a dude named Antoine. Pretty boy, star of the basketball team, all that. I wasn't in love. He was popular and not a drug dealer, so that was good enough. We broke up when he left to play ball at USC. I heard he actually went pro and is riding the bench in New Jersey or New York or somewhere."

Tara picked up a forkful of lasagna. "And your first love?"

"I met him when I was twenty. His name was Daniel, but everybody called him Rico because he was such a pretty boy. Always had a weakness for the pretty ones," she said with a slight chuckle. "Anyway, he was ten years older than me. Owned the barbershop across the street from my mother's salon. When my mother’s cancer got worse, he helped me out a lot. We had a string of break-ins in the area so he gave me a gun and took me to the range. Somewhere in all that, it turned into something more. Went on for about a year, right up until my mother died."

"What happened?"

"His wife found out."

"Whoa."

"I knew better but I was young and exhausted from the responsibility of taking care of my mom and her business. With Rico, I didn't have to be in charge. I could just relax and let someone take care of me for once. And the sex was just..."

"What happened with his wife?"

Kyra sipped her drink as the memory played out in her mind. She'd never forget seeing the woman into the salon, demanding to speak with the "Little bitch who was fucking her husband." She wasn’t as tough as she sounded; Kyra knew she wasn't a tough girl. Rico told her that his wife grew up in a privileged, suburban home and had never swung a fist in her life. Kyra tried to reason with her. "I understand you're upset, but this is a place of business. If you want to have a conversation with me, you'll have to wait until I'm off the clock."

But the woman kept making a scene until Kyra was forced to speak with her outside where she continued to curse and make threats. "You have every right to be pissed, but in a minute, you're gonna get the Jerry Springer episode you tryna act out, right here in the middle of the street," Kyra warned.

"I bet your poor mother is turning in her grave looking at the little slut she raised."

No sooner than the words left the woman's mouth did Kyra's fist land square in her right eye. She'd made the mistake of mentioning Kyra's mother the day after her funeral, so it no longer mattered to Kyra that she was in fact, in the wrong. The whole fight was a blur. Mostly because Kyra fought through tear-filled eyes. She just remembered sirens and the cops pulling her away after she slammed the woman's face into the concrete sidewalk.

Kyra brought her attention back to Tara. "Long story short: she picked the wrong day to confront me and I beat her ass in the middle of the street. Rico and wifey made up, I stopped seeing him, and a few months later, I left for UC Sacramento.”

Tara took a long pull of her joint. "College. The great equalizer that turns wild young girls into upstanding professional women. Until we hook up with bikers and end up living a life of crime anyway."

"Pfffff! Right!" Kyra chuckled. "I'll still hit a bitch, though."

"Really? I'd feel silly fighting at this point in my life."

Kyra exhaled smoke. "Some people in the world respect degrees and hard work. Then there are other people who only respect force. And if they think they can get over on you, they will. Ninety percent of the time, I'm the bigger person. But then there's that ten percent that only understand a ass whoopin."

“You sound like Gemma,” Tara said with a laugh. “But seriously, I'm glad you and Juice are together. Don't get me wrong, I like Lyla and Gemma's great with the boys but, you're the only person around here I can actually relate to. It's been one crisis after another since I came back to Charming. I don't even remember the last time I had a normal girl talk."

"Same here," Kyra replied. "Hey. Do you worry? You know, when they go on out of town runs and stuff?"

"About what?" Tara asked. "The women or the likelihood something bad will happen?"

Kyra hadn't even thought of other women. She almost hoped that Juice cheated while he was on the road. Get it over with so she could stop waiting for karma to come back around. "Something bad happening. I didn't worry so much when Juice and I were just hanging out, but since the shooting..."

"I worry all the time about something bad happening. Whether Jax is in bed next to me or a thousand miles away. It's just like I told you that night in the clubhouse. The good times have to make it worth the times when you're scared shitless. Are you happy?"

"When my mother got sick, I shut down. Neeta was in jail and the only other person in my life who cared belonged to someone else. Then my mom died and I moved to Sacramento and just went through the motions, you know? Then I moved to Charming and I started flirting with this cute Puerto Rican biker and all of a sudden, I feel..." Kyra searched for the right word. "I feel alive. And he's so sweet and so loyal. And I love him. So yeah. I'm happy."

Tara puffed her joint. "Hmmm. Sounds like you'll be getting inked in no time."

**Juice**

_ "Now peep it, here go the secret how to keep a playa. Some love makin' and homecookin', I'll see ya later. It don't take a lot to keep a nigga heaaart. Must be a lady in the light, but real freaky in the dark..." _

Juice returned on Saturday afternoon to the sound of 2Pac blasting in the apartment. Pine-Sol greeted his nostrils and he realized that Kyra was in the midst of her weekly cleaning routine. The kitchen and living rooms were spotless and he could hear the echo of her rapping lyrics from the bathroom. _ "I bet ya never screamed a nigga's whole name out. And felt the pleasure and the pain, bout to fuck the very taste out ya mouth..." _

She looked like a hood Martha Stewart, screaming along to the music and scrubbing the bathroom sink. He took pleasure in watching her ass sway in a pair of canary yellow pajama shorts that just barely grazed the top of her dark brown thighs. Later he'd tell her how dangerous it was to have the music up so loud that she couldn't hear someone come into the apartment, but for the moment he enjoyed the view. It'd been a long ride from Tacoma and he was happy to come home and see her so relaxed and carefree. Especially when she'd been so stressed and nervous when he left.

_ "They call me Storm, from the day I was born. I been known to break the coldest muthafucka till his heart's warm..." _

There wasn't even a hint of the all business Kyra that she presented to the world. When he saw her like this, he could easily imagine her as a teenager, kicking ass and taking names in her old neighborhood.

"I know you've got some Biggie that you can play instead," he said, finally interrupting her. They had a running joke about Biggie versus 2Pac. Being the New York native, he preferred Biggie, while Kyra was a true California girl and idolized Pac.

She jumped a mile high and screamed. "SHIT!" When she registered his face, her frightened expression turned into a smile, right before she balled up her hand and landed a punch on his left shoulder. "Asshole. You scared the shit out of me."

She hit pretty damn hard for a chick. "Hey babe," he said sarcastically. "Missed you, too."

She closed the space between them, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Welcome home," she purred and leaned up to kiss him. Juice's hands found her waist, pulling her body next to his while he caressed her lower back. Kyra didn't wear lip gloss around the house, so her lips were missing their signature strawberry taste, but he reveled in their softness and the way she nibbled on his bottom lip. "How'd everything go?" she asked, once she broke the kiss.

"Not a scratch or bullet wound on me," he replied. He leaned down and put his lips next to her ear. "Now what were you just singing about getting the taste fucked out of your mouth?"

She placed both hands on his cut and stepped back. "Not until you hit the shower. You smell like the road," She sniffed and crinkled up her nose. "and ass."

Juice was so used to the smell of pussy that permeated every clubhouse he barely noticed it on his clothes anymore. Sweetbutts were always part of the welcome package when they visited other charters. He was on his best behavior in Tacoma, sticking close to Jax and Opie, rather than Tig and Chibs, who always partook in out of state action. Still, there was no way to avoid the scent of lewd acts, especially when he slept in an open room where a little bit of everything went down. "Occupational hazard," he said with a smile. "All clubhouses smell like pussy."

Kyra raised a brow. "Yeah, I'm sure. Well, if you want any of this, you'll rid yourself of that stench and do it quickly."

She wasn't getting away that easily. While she'd given him more than enough to hold him over before he left for Tacoma, he'd been staring at bare tits and asses in G-strings for the last two days. Not only had he kept his word to return in one piece, but he'd also been a good boy while he was away. He was ready to collect his reward. Before she could leave the bathroom, he grabbed her hand and pinned her against the wall. She was bra-less beneath her T-shirt and he stiffened when her nipples hardened against his chest. He flicked her earlobe with the tip of his tongue and slid his hand down the front of her shorts. "Why don't you join me?" he whispered, applying soft strokes to the moistness that greeted his fingertips. "Make sure I get all the hard to reach spots."

She answered with a satisfied moan and Juice smiled against her neck when she slid his kutte off of his shoulders. She turned his head so that they were face to face. "Thanks for keeping your word," she whispered before nipping at his bottom lip with her teeth. "Let's get you cleaned up."


	5. Chapter 5

_ **Kyra** _

There was a Wal-mart in Charming and it amazed Kyra how enthusiastic the town was about its grand opening. The crowded aisles and glowing faces of the locals in the town's first franchise store was a surefire signal that she was in Hicktown, USA. Juice hated "retail assholes" taking residence in SAMCRO's territory and bitched the entire time he and Kyra walked around the store. She wanted to ask, What the fuck is the big deal? He was from New York, for Christ's sake. He had to know at some point, Charming would attempt to become a modern city.

She stopped scanning the spices and seasonings long enough to glimpse his face. He looked like a five-year-old forced to go dress shopping with his mother. She almost chuckled out loud at the contrast of his childish scowl and the menacing kutte and tattoos he sported. "Hey," she said. "I'm just about done here. If you can go hunt down the liquor aisle and grab a bottle of Malibu, I'll meet you at the cash registers and we can get out of here."

"Got it," Juice said, and walked off with his usual bounce step. Kyra caught the smile that threatened to spread across her lips. She did that often; look at Juice and break into a goofy grin. He was just so damned sweet and she'd never experienced that kind of sweetness with a man before. Rico and the guys she hung out with in Sacramento were always too cool, too pretty and stuck on themselves for that kind of thing. Juice, on the other hand, was all loyalty and adoration for her. Just recently, he'd ordered the entire Sade live convert DVD collection for her. "You know, since I made you miss the concert a few months back," he'd said. He'd also bought a desk and set up a study area in her second bedroom where she could study for her CPA exam uninterrupted. Kyra found it ironic that the only "bad boy" she'd ever dated turned out to be the kindest of the bunch.

She was waiting for Juice at the front of the store when she heard someone call out her name. She turned around to see Debbie, a frumpy blonde who worked with her at Oswald Industries, giving her an enthusiastic wave. While Kyra was always cordial in the office, she wasn't fond enough of her coworkers to get excited about running into them around town. Now, now Kyra. Don't be the rude black girl. She forced a polite smile. "Hi, Debbie."

Debbie's blue eyes widened. "Big deal, huh?" she said, with the wave of her hand.

Kyra was lost. "Huh?"

"The store," Debbie chirped. "Big deal for Charming. Looks like we're finally in the 21st century."

I guess it'd be a big deal to me too if I grew up in Mayberry. Kyra nodded. "It's nice." Her response came out flatter than expected and Debbie was taken aback. Kyra diverted her eyes to the husky brown-haired man who stood behind the petite blond. "Is this your husband?"

Debbie's smile returned as she smacked her forehead. "Of course. Where are my manners? Kyra, this is my husband Bill. Bill, this is Kyra; Elliot's executive assistant."

Bill reached out, pointing five fat fingers at Kyra before closing his hand around hers. "Nice to meet you, Kyra." As soon as the statement left his mouth, his eyes glassed over and hardened. Bill and Debbie's cheerful faces dropped, as if they'd seen something that disgusted them. A firm hand grazed her butt and she felt what she knew was Juice's hard chest against her back.

"Here...babe," he said, carefully placing the Malibu rum into her basket. The catch in his voice indicated that he knew he'd walked into an awkward moment.

The four of them stood silent for a moment. The couple looked like they'd seen the boogeyman and it caught Kyra off guard. "Debbie, Bill; this is my boyfriend Juan." She said it in vain. The SAMCRO kutte told Bill and Debbie everything they needed to know. It didn't help that she had on a black leather motorcycle jacket. _I would pick today to look all biker bitch._ The disdain on their faces was clear as day.

"Honey, let's go," Bill said. "We told Mom we'd pick up the kids by seven."

Debbie's eyes were fixed on Juice. "Yeah, we should go. See you at the office on Monday, Kyra." Before Kyra could utter another word, they'd walked away.

She should have been concerned. She already had problems fitting in at Oswald. They saw her as an outsider; the college-educated, city-bred black girl who was too fancy for the plain folks of Charming. Now, word would circulate around the office that she was shacked up with one of the town's outlaws. But as she felt the warmth of Juice's palm resting protectively on her lower back, Kyra couldn't find a reason to give a shit what her coworkers thought. "Well, damn," she said, turning around to face him. "Guess this means I can't take you to the office Christmas party."

Juice shrugged. "Their loss. I do a pretty badass version of 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer'."

If she beamed any harder, she would have hated herself. This man was turning her into a puddle of mush. "Fuck 'em. Let's get out of here so I can go home and kick that ass on Wii Boxing."

Kyra prayed that Juice was too tired for sex. Usually, a flick on his tongue on the right body part could get her raring to go, but after five rounds of Wii Boxing, she was drained. She was relieved when he stripped down and flopped into bed next to her, sans the suggestive grin that let her know he wanted some. Instead, he pulled her back against his chest, threw his arm over her waist, and let out a heavy sigh.

"I'd be tired too if I was you," Kyra teased, "after taking those three ass-whoopins."

"You're lucky I'm too tired to shut you up." He rubbed a slight bulge against her ass. "I bet I'd win round six."

"I think I'll take my victory and go to sleep."

He circled a patch of skin on her stomach with his index finger. "Chicken shit."

They lay in silence while his hand lazily explored her torso. He started at her navel and moved across her hip and onto her back. A fingertip on her lower back turned her on, but his full palm on her back relaxed her. As he rubbed the area, she remembered Tara's tattoo. "Did you know that Tara has a tramp stamp with Jax's name on it?" She asked through a yawn.

"I always knew she had a crow; just never knew where. Why? You want one?"

She hadn't really thought about it. Tattoos were such a permanent thing and she didn't have any. Not even one for her mother. She was sure that she loved Juice, but the crow symbolized a bond to SAMCRO, and she just wasn't there yet. She did what was expected of her: always welcoming his brothers into her home with a smile, knowing when he needed the room for a private conversation, and was even making an effort to fit in with the other old ladies, but these were things she did out of duty. She didn't mind them, but she didn't particularly enjoy them either. At least not enough stamp a crow on her body. "I don't know," she finally answered, "maybe one day."

Kyra waited for a reply, but only heard his heavy breathing that would soon become a full-fledged snore. She nestled her backside against his pelvis before closing her eyes and falling into her own sleep.

A small, sharp pain in her right arm interrupted Kyra's slumber. She attempted to say "Ouch," but her lips were pressed against her face by a calloused hand. What the fuck? Her eyes snapped open and saw the white of Juice's wide eyes against the pitch black bedroom. Is this some kind of dream inside a dream? Oh my God, he's gonna kill me. I've let a fuckin' psycho into my house. She was about to bite his hand and demand he tell her what the fuck he was doing when he leaned down and pressed his mouth against her ear: "I think there's somebody in the house. Don't make a sound."

A million questions zoomed through her mind. Who the fuck was in her house? Why were they there? Why was Juice so damned calm about it? Did it have something to do with the club? Were they gonna die? _This _muthafucka_ is _gonna_ get me killed already. Wait. Stop. Calm down Kyra. Panicking will only make it worse._ She closed her eyes and exhaled through her nose onto Juice's hand. She nodded. The cool bedroom air swept across her freed lips and she exhaled again.

"I need you to do exactly as I say," he whispered, "I'm gonna see what's going on. Get your gun and stand behind the bedroom door. Keep it closed and don't come out unless you hear me say so. Anybody tries to come in here, kill 'em."

Kyra nodded again and watched as Juice eased off of the bed. He was still in his boxers and made no moves toward his sweatpants on the floor, instead going right for his holster that hung from the headboard. A slice of moonlight that shone through the blinds caught his face, revealing a hard, focused expression that she'd never seen before. The muscles in his arm and shoulder tensed as he gripped the butt of a 9 mm glock in his right hand. He cocked it slowly, wincing at the small "click-clack" that thundered against the stillness of the room. There was an effortlessness in his movements that reminded Kyra of Juice's life away from her—a life where he tip-toed on the line of life and death regularly and managed to survive. He knew what he was doing, and that knowledge gave her a strange sense of ease.

He motioned for her to get up and she obeyed, going for the Smith & Wesson .38 Special she kept in her nightstand drawer. She'd had a 9mm of her own, but he'd told her that unless she got into regular shoot outs, the .38 was a better gun for her. He was right. The revolver was more user-friendly.

Gun in hand, Kyra climbed out of bed and stood next to Juice. He waved her toward the wall behind the door. Her heart pounded in her ears as he carefully turned the handle and cracked the door open just wide enough so he could slip out of the room. In that moment, she heard a faint, rustling sound in the front room. Before she could hear anything more, he closed the door behind him with a soft click.

She choked the handle of the .38 and pressed her ear to the door. She hoped to hear something—anything—that would tell her Juice was okay and in control of the situation. She didn't know who or what was out there, or why. And while she'd heard his directions, there was no way she could hide behind the door while something happened to him. 

There were muffled voices; Juice's and another, higher-pitched male voice. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but Juice was practically barking. Kyra looked at the clock on the nightstand. The seconds crawled by, and as each one passed, her hand inched closer to the doorknob. He would be pissed, but she didn't care. The silence and the unknown were killing her. She closed her eyes and gripped the doorknob, turning it slowly before cracking the door open. It was just enough to let sound and a strip of light from the hallway into the bedroom.

The speaking had been replaced by grunts. Kyra heard glass shatter against tile and knew that they were scuffling in the kitchen. There was a crash, then the unfamiliar voice yelped. She was still debating going into the living room when she heard Juice yell. "Kyra! Get out here!"

He wouldn't tell her to come out if he thought she'd be in danger, but just in case, she raised the .38 as she walked down the hallway. When she got to the front room, she saw the intruder, a skinny white guy she guessed to be in his thirties, hemmed against wall next to the front door. His chin-length blond hair looked like it hadn't been washed in weeks and clung to his face. His blue eyes were bulging and bloodshot. She couldn't tell if he was high or just struggling for oxygen because Juice's forearm was jammed under his chin. Blood oozed from his nose and lips. "Jesus Christ," Kyra whispered, her gun trained on the intruder.

"Memorize this shithead's face, Kyra," Juice growled. "Cuz the next time he shows up within a mile of this neighborhood, I'll jam my gun down his junkie throat and make him suck it before I blow his fuckin' head off."

The threat almost made her jump right out of her skin. It wasn't the words, but how easily they'd rolled off of his tongue that startled her. She couldn't see his face, but as he stood, dressed only in boxer shorts, she saw nearly every muscle in his body flex beneath his sweat-drenched beige skin. The ink images on his arms, the ones she routinely dug her nails into when they made love, suddenly took on a sinister appearance. The man before her was not the sweet, easy going boyfriend who'd let her drag him through Wal-Mart just hours ago.

"You got your gun on him?"

Kyra tightened her grip on the .38 and aimed at the intruder's face. She didn't think it was possible for his eyes to get any bigger, but forcing him to stare down the barrel of her gun proved otherwise. He squirmed and whimpered. "Yeah," she answered.

Juice snatched the man by the front of his blood-stained T-shirt and opened the door. "Follow me," he commanded.

For a moment, she thought he would throw the man off of the balcony. They were only on the second floor, but the thought still made her shiver. She was relieved when he instead flung him toward the stairs and grabbed her gun. "Now get the fuck out of here," Juice spat, aiming for his chest. He kept the gun raised until the man had stumbled down the wooden stairs and limped off into the night. When they were sure he was gone, Juice dropped his arms and exhaled into the cold November air. "Let's get inside."

Kyra had questions. Why had someone broken into her house? Who was he? Why didn't they call the police? But the cold glare in Juice's eyes told her to hold off on an interrogation. Instead, she stepped back into the apartment to survey the damage. Most of her things were still intact, though she could see where the intruder had disconnected the Nintendo Wii and her DVD player. The kitchen was a little worse off. They'd knocked some of her wine glasses onto the floor during their scuffle and some of her mother's good silverware was on the floor. There was also a trail of blood droplets that led from the kitchen to the doorway. Cleaning that out of the carpet was going to be a bitch.

"You okay?" Juice's voice interrupted her inspection. The growl was gone and when she turned around to look at him, his face was relaxed. He was back to his normal self. She studied his body for indications of the fight and saw a few scratches on his arms and neck. There was a slight swelling in his left cheek that would turn into an ugly bruise by morning. "I'm fine," she replied. "You might want to get some ice on that cheek though."

He rubbed the sore spot and cringed. "Yeah. You're right."

She went to grab some ice from the freezer, but remembered the broken glass on the floor. She folded her arms. "What was that all about?"

He flopped down on the couch. "From what I could tell, a meth-head lookin' to trade some valuables for crank cash. He didn't get anything though."

That explained the bloodshot eyes and how easily he'd crumbled under Juice's forearm. "Shouldn't we call the cops?"

Juice's eyes narrowed. "No." he boomed. "County sheriffs would come in here, take one look at me, and make this my fault. All they need is to find some bud or a handgun and they can ship my ass right back to Stockton."

So "no cops" in SAMCRO meant absolutely no cops under any circumstances. Kyra made the mental note. "Now what?" she asked.

"I'll call the Prospect over to take care of the mess and the busted lock. Throw on some clothes and pack a bag. We're crashing at the clubhouse."

The ride to the clubhouse was quiet. Juice whipped her Mustang through the empty Charming streets while Kyra nodded into and out of sleep. There was a strange man in her apartment, and this should have bothered her, but by the time the dark-haired, puppy-eyed Prospect arrived at her place, she was too tired to care. She just wanted to go to sleep, wake up, and return to an apartment that showed no signs of a break-in.

When she thought about it, she actually should have been bothered by a lot; namely what little she knew about the man she loved and had shared her home with for the last two months. She knew he had a dark side--he needed one to deal with the shit that came with MC life--but she'd never seen that side of him until that night. What scared her more than the coldness in his eyes and the harshness in his voice was how safe he'd made her feel. She should have been turned off. She should have been disturbed, but when she glanced over at Juice, the only feeling she could identify was gratitude. She had a man who was sweet enough to let her drag him grocery shopping, and strong enough to jam a gun down a man's throat to protect her.

She studied the Reaper tattoo on his arm as he gripped the steering wheel and for the first time since she'd met him five months ago, she didn't feel indifferent about it. If SAMCRO had made him the man that had protected her house that night, she could definitely learn to love it.


	6. Chapter 6

_ **Kyra** _

She should have never let him start kissing her.

It was Thanksgiving morning and Gemma expected her at the clubhouse to start cooking at 10:30. At 9:45 AM, Kyra was still in bed, laying on her side with Juice's lips on her neck and his tattooed arm snaked around her waist while he stroked her from behind. She tried to refuse him and get out of bed on time, but when he pulled her back to bed, nibbling her neck and whispering in her ear, she was a goner. Then he spooned her and slipped inside of her from her favorite position. "Gotdamn," she whispered when he hit a good spot. She was going to be so late, but shit, he felt so good. This man did not play fair.

"You still gotta go?" Juice teased, massaging her right breast while he worked. "Huh?"

He was too cocky, but she could fix that. "So we're playin' this morning?" She leaned forward slightly and arched her ass, meeting his thrusts with a hard, slow grind.

He responded with a hiss. "Shiiit, Kyra..." His hand fell down to her hip, squeezing as her ass pushed against his pelvis. She leaned farther, gripping the side of the bed to stay balanced and pushed back even harder. Oh damn, that was it. His thickness throbbed against her slippery walls and she felt the beginnings of an orgasm rumble in the pit of her stomach. She knew just how to end this. She slid her hand between her legs and massaged her clit, still bucking against him. "Meet me at the finish line, babe? Huh?"

"Oh fuck..."

Kyra bit her bottom lip and smirked. _Just as I thought... _She pressed her index and middle fingers against her clit and the rumble erupted into a warm, tingly tidal wave that rolled all the way down to her toes. She sunk her teeth into the pillow, letting it swallow her moans. Juice, unable to resist the combination of her wetness and pulsating around him, exploded shortly afterward, clenching her back against his chest as his muscles shuddered around her. "Cheater," he panted, still struggling to catch his breath.

"You started it. Don't get mad because I finished it." She tossed his arm off of her and wiggled out of his embrace. "Now let me go. Can't keep Queen Mother Gemma waiting."

Kyra pulled up to the Teller Morrow lot as Tara turned off the ignition in her vintage Cutlass. She always laughed when she saw the doctor in the long, black, menacing-looking car. The first time she rode with Tara, she asked how the doctor felt driving around town looking like she was about to do a drive-by shooting. "Damn, if I'm pulling up the same time as you, I _must _be late," Kyra teased.

"Only by about twenty minutes," Tara said, reaching into the backseat for Tommy's car seat. "And I thought I'd be on time because I only had one baby to take care of this morning. What's your excuse?"

"A twenty-eight-year-old baby who wouldn't let me out of bed." Kyra peered into the car to see a giggling Tommy. With Tara's chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes and Jax's unmistakable smile, the kid was going to be a heartbreaker. "Happy Thanksgiving, Little Man," she cooed. The ten-month-old clapped and flashed a baby version of his father's grin. "You know you're gonna have to buy condoms as soon as this boy turns twelve, right?"

Tara rolled her eyes. "The sad part is, you're right. If these boys are anything like their father..."

"... You'll turn into Gemma Jr."

"Oh God. Please don't say that," Tara replied with a laugh as Kyra opened the clubhouse door. The heavy aromas of fresh bread and sweet butter wafted out into the air. Tara inhaled and smiled. "Smells like Bobby made muffins."

The smell was heavenly, but did Tara say that Bobby made muffins? Maybe she meant some sweetbutt named Bobbi, because Kyra could not imagine the old, graying biker mixing muffin batter. Sure enough, when they got to the common room, Bobby, as in the club's short, chubby treasurer, walked out of the kitchen with a platter of muffins and a coffee mug. _I swear these men are full of surprises, _she thought. "Happy Turkey Day, ladies," he said as he placed the platter on the bar. "Help yourselves."

A flood of smart ass comments entered Kyra's mind at the sight of Bobby as the club's homemaker, but she bit every one of them back. She knew that MC men didn't take kindly to women who mouthed off too much. Though she was Juice's Old Lady, she still wasn't comfortable enough with any of the other SAMCRO men to share her sense of humor with them. Instead, she gave him her usual polite smile. "Good morning, Bobby." She pointed at the muffins. "You baked those?"

His eyes sparkled under his glasses as he gave a proud nod. "From scratch. All organic."

"Where's Gemma?" Tara asked, perusing the muffins.

"In the kitchen with Neeta and your boy," he replied. "I figured you ladies would need some morning fuel. I'm goin' to the back to catch a few more winks. Wake me up when it's time to eat."

"Well look who's finally escaped from the love nest." Kyra looked up and saw her aunt walk out of the kitchen with a food stain-covered Abel in her arms. "Shame when you need a holiday to see your own flesh and blood."

Kyra smiled and shook her head. Since Juice moved in, she'd barely seen her aunt. She walked up and placed a peck on Neeta's cheek. "Heeeeey Auntie," she said playfully.

Neeta rolled her eyes. "Mmm hmm. 'Hey Auntie,' my foot." Abel spotted Tara and bounced in Neeta's arms. "Ma! Ma!" he squealed.

"I was just about to give him a bath," Neeta said.

Tara pulled him from Neeta's arms. "I'll do it. Something tells me I'll be more useful taking care of this than in the kitchen." The doc was right. Her surgeon's hands made her good at chopping ingredients, but she was a notoriously bad cook.

"Speaking of the kitchen," Neeta said, looking at Kyra. "You might wanna get in there. Gemma's cussin' ya'll to hell for bein' late."

_When isn't Gemma cussing me to hell? _Kyra thought as she made her way into the kitchen. Gemma was there, decked in her usual flannel, with her dark brown and platinum blond highlighted hair pulled away from her face. "Morning, Gemma."

"Not like you to be late," she answered, passing Kyra an apron. She stopped and studied Kyra's face. "I'd ask what got hold of you this morning, but I'm pretty sure I know the answer."

For all of Gemma's faults, she was perceptive as hell. Oddly enough, she was getting used to Gemma's style of communication. It took a while to catch on, but she only spoke in directives. Kyra no longer took it personally when Gemma barked on her since she pretty much took that tone with everyone. "Yeah, it was one of those mornings," she said with a smirk, tying the apron behind her back. "Where should I start?"

"Potatoes need mashing. Have Tara slice up the garlic when she gets in here."

"Yes ma'am," Kyra replied out of habit. As she surveyed the chopped potatoes in the bowl in front of her, she wondered when she'd gone from using that phrase sarcastically to actually deferring to the Queen.

Between noon and one o'clock, the SAMCRO men began their slow descent upon the clubhouse and soon the sounds of dirty banter and deep-voiced laughter bounced off of the walls. Eventually, a few Crow Eaters showed up, mostly to fetch beers while the old ladies held down the kitchen and the handful of children running around the clubhouse. Kyra had taken a break from cooking duty and was posted against the bar nursing a glass of Merlot. She remembered how much shit the guys initially gave Juice over his "fancy, wine-sippin' old lady," and treated the lack of attention to her beverage as a sign that they were used to having her around.

She scanned the room and found Juice watching a heated game of pool between Kozik and Bobby. She observed him for a moment; taking in his solid, muscular frame and easy smile, then his biker adornments: the tats, his cut, and the bulky gold rings that occupied all of his fingers. _Where did this shit come from? _She wondered. Her love for Juice, her level of comfort in this nearly foreign world. No way could she have ever seen this coming.

"Ah, I remember that well," Tara said, as she joined Kyra at the bar. "Can't even look at him without smiling, huh?"

Kyra shook her head. "What? Was I smiling?"

"So hard I was about to ask if your face hurts."

Kyra turned toward Tara. "Can I ask you a question?"

She nodded. "Sure."

Kyra paused a moment. She had to choose her words carefully, but she'd had a nagging feeling for the last couple of weeks and needed to talk it over. "The club shit, does it ever turn you on?"

The doctor crinkled her brows. "What do you mean?"

"I know you've been through some heavy-duty shit since you've been back with Jax," Kyra started, "and I don't wanna make light of that. But the guns, the violence? Do they ever make you look at him like 'Wow?'"

Tara's eyes crossed the room to the couch where Jax was seated with Tommy in his lap. "I... I don't know. Why?"

Kyra sighed. "I've just had this feeling since the break-in. Before the club was this thing that I tolerated because it was part of Juice's life, you know? But since I watched him threaten that guy, it's different. Like when he throws on his holster and that kutte now, deep down, part of me... appreciates it. Knowing that he'd kill for me, in an instant? It's kinda... and I swear I hate myself for thinkin' this, but it's kinda sexy."

Tara got a faraway look in her eyes that made Kyra regret her comment. She heard that Tara had been through hell: kidnapped, witnessed murder, and held at gunpoint more than once, and here she was, romanticizing the shit. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to--."

Tara shook her head, her eyes fixed on Jax. "No, it's fine. And yeah. I know exactly what you mean."

_ **Juice** _

"Oh blow me, you blond pussy," Tig snarled at Kozik. Juice leaned against the wall, nursing his cigarette and laughing at the scene before him. After winning $50 off of Bobby in a game of pool, Kozik challenged Tig and the request led to their usual back and forth. Tig could be insufferable on a regular day, but it was amazing how easily Koz got under his skin.

"Sorry Tiggy. Me blowing you would mean you actually had a dick."

Juice butt in. "I'm reeeeally starting to think there's some repressed sexual tension between you two. You should go in the back and work that shit out."

Tig's blue eyes lit up. "Oh yeah? Is that what you did for good old Deon back in county? Helped him work his shit out?"

Koz exploded into laughter and Juice had no choice but to hang his head. He would never hear the end of Deon. Koz walked over and gave him a pat on his back. "It's okay, Juicy. At least you've traded up in the fine chocolate ass department. This one still gets off grindin' on horses' asses."

And just like that, Juice was laughing again. "Can't argue with that, brother. You've got the warrants to prove it." Wait. Had Koz called Kyra "fine chocolate ass?" It was so hard for him to remind his brothers not to look at his lady that way. Especially since he always agreed with their assessments. As far as he was concerned, he had the hottest chick in the entire club. Still, he had to tell them to stop ogling her. 

"You little shit. I was your sponsor and you back this douche?" Tig spat at Juice.

_This from the guy who once threatened to dunk his balls in my mouth because I wanted to have a general conversation. _"You were like, the _worst _sponsor in the history of sponsorship, Tig."

Tig shook his head. "This is what happens when you patch little pussy pretty boys," he mumbled. "Fuck the both a' you."

Juice chuckled as Tig stalked away. "Dude, are you two ever gonna squash your shit?" he asked Koz. When the boys got out of Stockton, Tig had finally, albeit reluctantly, voted to let Koz join SAMCRO. Nonetheless, they still couldn't be within twenty-five feet of each other without bickering like bitchy school girls.

"Eh. We could, but where's the fun in that? Next to pussy, fuckin' with him is my main source of entertainment around here."

Juice took a pull from his cigarette. "I can't decide if that's really funny or really sad."

"Maybe I'll settle down like you, Jax, and Ope. Get a chick. Have some kids. Give me something more productive to do when I'm off the road."

"Slow down, brother. I'm not in the wife and kids club yet."

Koz pointed across the room at Jax, who was bouncing his youngest son in his lap. "You think Daddy Day Care over there thought he was ready for another kid when Tara moved in? That's just how it happens. First comes live-in pussy, then comes a big, round belly." He laughed. "Just wait. You two'll have little mutts runnin' round here any day now."

Juice cringed at the mention of he and Kyra's non-existant kids being considered "mutts." He never noticed how many off-color racial slurs they used until he started bringing her around and praying she never heard any of them. His eyes searched the room and found her at the bar, in the middle of a deep conversation with Tara. He realized that they never talked about kids. Hell, they were barely even splitting the bills at the apartment. He couldn't imagine discussing anything as serious as kids. But it didn't matter anyway. "Not gonna happen. I'm still wrappin' my shit."

Koz looked shocked. "You're wrappin' up with live-in pussy?"

He wasn't a fan of it either, but he wasn't as far removed from his days in the clubhouse as Kyra liked, so she still required him to wear rubbers. They had occasional slips, like the incredible one that morning before Kyra left the house, but most of the time, she was good about reaching in the nightstand drawer for a condom. That wasn't the kind of answer to share with a brother though. No need to give the impression that he didn't have control over his house. "Yup. No Daddy Day Care for me."

About ten minutes later, dinner was served. The ladies laid out a buffet-style setup, so it was every man for himself. Juice piled his plate high with turkey and stuffing, ham, garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, macaroni and cheese, corn muffins, and cranberry sauce. He was so used to Kyra's cooking that he could tell which dishes she'd helped prepare. The mashed potatoes and macaroni and cheese were heavily seasoned, which was a telltale sign of his woman's hand.

He watched her move through the room and admired how effortlessly she fit into his world. Their first dinner at Gemma's had been touch and go, but here, she was totally at ease.

When dinner ended, he sat with Kyra as she held Abel in her lap. Koz had him thinking about children, so he paid close attention to her interactions with the two-year-old. She was good at making him laugh, but when Abel got fussy, he could sense her nervousness. _She's just as goofy with kids as I am_, he thought when she scanned the room for Jax or Tara when Abel started wailing.

He joined Jax and Chibs at the bar for shots of Jack Daniels. He was about four drinks in when Neeta took a seat next to him. Even under the haze of whiskey, he knew she wanted to talk to him about Kyra. After all, what other reason would she have for wanting to speak to him?

"She seems happy," Neeta said, watching Kyra across the room with Lyla and Tara.

Juice pushed his fifth shot away and turned toward Neeta. "I try to keep her that way."

"She's a tough girl, you know? Me and her mother raised her that way. Taught her to be responsible and handle her business."

He didn't know what to say, so he just nodded. He sensed that from Kyra; her strength and sense of responsibility. She rarely complained. Always did what needed to be done. It was one of the many things that he loved about her.

"We did her a disservice," Neeta said. "She's so used to doin' what she _has_ to do, I don't think she's ever known what she really wanted. She's different with you, though. Lighter. Freer. I don't love your risky lifestyle, but she's spent so much of her life takin' care of everything and everyone. It's good to know that somebody's finally takin' care of her."

Juice didn't know if it was his heart or the whiskey floating around in his system that possessed his mouth. He just knew he couldn't stop the words that spilled out. "I love the hell out of that girl, Neeta."

She nodded, looking at him with a smile. "I know you do. Long as you keep that up, you're alright with me."


	7. Chapter 7

_ **Juice** _

"I want a tattoo."

She said it so calmly, he almost didn't hear her. It was Friday night and he'd just finished a session of Church with the guys. Kyra had been waiting for him outside with Lyla. He forgot that Happy was going to start on his Reaper back tat, an exact duplication of his kutte inked into his back that would take at least a week to finish, and was coming out to tell her that she could head home without him. Activity buzzed around the lot, with hangarounds, male and female, descending upon the clubhouse for the weekly after-Church festivities.

Once he processed the statement, his eyebrows shot up. She was ready for her Crow? The last time they'd discussed it, she didn't sound enthused about the idea, so her sudden declaration was a pleasant surprise. The hope in his voice made his reply come out in a pitch higher than he expected. "Really?"

She stood before him, adorably girlish in her black leather jacket, jeans, and flats, with her hands stuffed in her back pockets. Her brown hair used to graze her shoulders when she wore it straight, but she'd let it grow a bit and now it reached down to her collarbone. She read his reaction with a contemplative face. "Wait," she said. "Not _that _tattoo. One for my mother."

Of course. She'd been more comfortable around the club lately, and Juice was grateful, but he should have known she was too reasonable to slap a crow on her body out of nowhere. It made sense that her first piece would be a tribute to her deceased mother. "Cool. You got a design in mind or would you need Hap to draw one up?"

Kyra raised a brow. "Hap?" She could put on a brave face when it came to SAMCRO, but she was open about how uncomfortable she was around Happy. "That muthafucka looks crazy _as shit_," she'd say. He couldn't necessarily blame her. 

"Yeah, babe. Happy does most of our tats." Juice watched her face crinkle and had to swallow his laughter. "I'd be right there with you."

Her face relaxed. "It's the logo from my mother's salon," she said, fishing her Blackberry out of her purse. The design was a pair of open scissors with the words "Miss" and "Rhonda's" written in cursive letters, underlined by the scissors' blades.

"Where do you want it?" he asked.

She rolled up her right sleeve and pointed to the inside of her forearm, right below her wrist. "Right here. Not too big, so I can cover it with bracelets at work."

Juice held her wrist and caressed the spot with his thumb. Of course, she wanted it there. A cute little tattoo in the daintiest place she could put it. It was good for a first piece, though. He looked up at her with a grin. "You're such a chick."

"And if I wasn't a chick, you'd be such a...?" she quipped.

"C'mon." He gave her ass a playful slap. "Get your ass inside so we can get you inked."

Juice held her hand and led her through the maze of scantily clad women, bikers, and wannabes. Her grip on his hand was loose and easy, but it tightened as they neared Happy who had pulled one of the tables into a corner and begun laying out his tools when they walked up. "Change of plans, Hap," Juice said. "Gonna let my lady go first."

Happy cast his dark eyes over Juice's shoulder on to Kyra. "Crow?"

"Nah," Juice replied. "Memorial for her mom. It's small. Probably take less than an hour." He paused. "She's a first-timer."

A hint of amusement shone behind Happy's hard glare. "Lettin' me pop your girl's cherry, huh Juicy?"

They had to cut this shit out. Opie's girl sucked cock for a living when he hooked up with her and Juice didn't remember Ope getting as much shit from his brothers as he got for Kyra. "Hey, Hap?" he said, searching his brother's face, waiting for the former Nomad to meet his glare. "Chill out."

Juice released Kyra's hand, squared his shoulders, and cocked his head to the side. He did _not_ want to end up in the ring with Hap's crazy ass, but rules were rules and Happy was getting dangerously close to crossing the line. The nomad stared at him a moment, drilling into his face with his nearly black eyes and Juice prepared for the worst. Then a wide grin spread across Hap's face. "Aw shit, bro," he said, slapping Juice on the shoulder. "My bad."

_Thank fucking God_, Juice thought. He turned to Kyra. "Hey babe, send the pic of your design to my email so I can print it out for Hap."

"Go to the bar and get yourself a few shots while you're at it, sweetheart," Hap growled. "I don't do sober first-timers..." He looked at Juice. "No disrespect."

They didn't stock the bar with any of the lightweight shit Kyra drank, so she knocked back four shots of Patron before Happy started her tattoo. Juice sat in front of her, nursing a Budweiser, while Hap sat opposite her at the table, holding her delicate wrist in his fingertips as he traced the needle across her skin. The drinks pulled down a layer of her usual careful reserve to the point where she was almost chatty. Juice couldn't tell if she was trying to hold off the awkwardness of being handled by a man who scared her or distracting herself from the pain of the needle piercing her skin, but she entertained them with stories about growing up in Oakland. Every now and then, Hap would hit a tender spot and she'd hiss and clutch Juice's knee with her left hand.

She talked about her first fight, which happened on her first day of high school when a classmate had given her shit about "talkin' like a little white bitch" because she spoke proper English. She garnered a chuckle from Hap when she ended the story with "...I slapped that illiterate bitch in the face with my English book, too." As she spoke, he realized that he'd never heard these stories. He'd created her biography in his head based on the background check he ran on her when he first decided to pursue her, so it was nice to hear her fill in the missing pieces for him. It seemed that the origin of any fight she'd ever been in was an act of disrespect or someone "trying" her because she appeared so unassuming. Juice could see how someone could make that mistake. Even as she sat in the room full of rowdy bikers, there was an elegance about her. The little way she held her wrist out for Happy and sat upright with her ankles crossed off to the side. He'd never found those subtleties attractive in a woman before, but with her, it was hot.

Juice was still studying her when he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. "Somebody gettin' a Crow?" Clay inquired over him.

Kyra looked up at Clay and shook her head. "Nah, not yet. I'm new to the whole ink thing. Takin' baby steps."

Wait. Had she said "Not yet?" So she _did _eventually want a Crow tat. Juice couldn't hide his smile as he wondered where on her dark caramel canvas he'd stamp her. Clay interrupted his thoughts. "Hey Juice, talk to ya a minute?"

Juice looked at Kyra, who checked Happy's progress with a careful eye. "You gonna be alright out here?"

"Only gonna be a few more minutes," Hap said, still in deep concentration.

Juice gave Kyra's knee an affectionate pat. "Be right back," he said and got up to follow Clay into the Chapel.

Clay was a large man, intimidating even with his age and physical restraints. He stood perched against the Redwood table that sat in the middle of the room with his signature Stogie in his hand and Juice wondered what the hell he'd screwed up that warranted a one-on-one. He stood in front of Clay and folded his arms, bracing himself for a reprimand. "Wassup, Clay?"

"Looks like things are goin' well with you and Neeta's niece," the President said, lighting his cigar.

_He pulled me in here to talk about my personal life. _"Um. Yeah," he answered with a slow nod. "I got no reason to complain."

"Good to hear." Clay reached into his kutte and retrieved a white envelope. "Think takin' this home might put a smile on her face?"

_What the hell? _Juice thought, taking the envelope into his hands. He peeked inside at the contents and saw a stack of $100 bills. "What's this?"

"That's my gratitude," Clay answered. "You've stepped up since we've been home. Especially with our new business up north and helpin' us stay low profile around here with all this new law shit up our asses."

He'd done something right. He couldn't fucking believe it. Five years in SAMCRO as the club screw up and now he was finally getting shit right. "Clay, you don't have to--"

"You've earned it. Finally got your goddamn head on right and found some focus. Think of this as your pre-Christmas bonus. My way of sayin' 'Keep up the good work.'"

Not a day passed since he came home that he didn't notice the differences between the man he'd been when he went into Stockton and the one he was becoming. He wasn't reactive as much as absent-minded and careless, but these days he felt surer and found himself thinking more about things before he did them. He didn't know if this was a result of his relationship with Kyra or if the relationship was one of a few signs that he'd grown up, but either way, Juice was happy his brothers could see the change in him.

He thumbed the bills in the envelope. There had to be at least fifty bills, and all of them appeared to be hundreds. Jesus Christ. Five-thousand dollars? He'd never received an envelope that thick before. He looked up at Clay. "Thank you, brother."

Clay opened his arms and the two men shared a brief hug, each patting the other on the back. "Like I said, you earned it. Go buy that pretty girl of yours somethin' nice."

Juice stepped back into the common room, where Kyra was wrapping her wrist with Saran Wrap. He picked up her hand to study Happy's work. Her skin was still red from irritation, but the piece came out identical to the picture she'd shown him. He liked that the design and its placement was so true to her personality; it was feminine but more meaningful than the generic flowers and butterflies tats he saw on Crow Eaters. "You like it?"

She ran a careful index finger over her mother's name and smiled. "Yeah," she almost whispered. "I love it. What do you think? Am I 'badass' enough for you now that I've got ink?"

_You're already everything enough for me_, he thought. God, that sounded gay, even if it was about his old lady. He winked at her. "Almost." Around them, the party revved up, with topless dancers taking their stations on the stripper poles as the music got louder. "Why don't you head home?" he said. "Hap's gettin' started on my Reaper tonight so I'm gonna be a while."

"Okay, babe," Kyra said, leaning up for a good-bye kiss. "See you when you get home."

_Home_. She'd said it before a million times in reference to the apartment, but the $5,000 in his pocket that gave it a new ring. He kicked out cash for groceries since he moved in and though he could more than afford to increase his contribution, she never asked. With things looking up for him in SAMCRO, he was ready to step up and be a real provider for her. He was a man, after all. And that's what men did.


	8. Chapter 8

** _Kyra_ **

Locked away in her spare bedroom that Juice had turned into her unofficial study room, she was sprawled out on the floor surrounded by Becker books, index cards, and highlighters. Kyra sat in the midst of the chaos, dressed in sweats and a T-shirt, with her hair pulled back into a haphazard ponytail, devouring information on pension laws and regulations. She was due to take her CPA exam in two months, and she'd be shocked if she didn't have a head full of grey hair by that time. There was a lot on the line for her with this test. Passing would put her on the fast track to a position in accounting, which meant a bigger salary and eventually buying a townhouse so that she could stop throwing away money on rent every month.

Owning a home. The thought reminded her of her mother, which reminded her of her new tattoo. She smiled at the cursive letters and read the words out loud. "Miss Rhonda's." It held a double meaning for her. She was her mother's child, so the possessive was accurate, but also, everything she achieved would be the result of her mother's hard work; hence adding the salon's full logo. She'd never figured herself for the tattoo type, but looking down at the little tribute made her feel closer to her mother.

She was even considering getting the Crow tattoo for Juice, though she struggled with the idea. They'd been together less than a year. It wasn't by any means the smart thing to do. Then again, neither was moving in with an outlaw biker after dating for a few months, but that seemed to be working out so far.

Kyra turned her attention back to her studies and just when she thought her eyes would cross, she heard a knock on the closed bedroom door. "You busy?" Juice called from the other side.

She rubbed her temples, happy for a momentary distraction. "I'm due for a break. You can come in."

The door opened and the smell his shaving gel filled the room. He must have been fresh out of the shower. He was dressed in his usual uniform of a skull T-shirt, cargo jeans and black army boots, with his gun holster slung over his broad shoulders. "How's it goin' in here?"

She slammed her Becker's book shut. "I think I'm done for a few hours. You headed out?"

He pulled her desk chair from the corner and sat down in front of her. "Yeah. It's gonna be a long day. Gotta take care of some club stuff and then Hap's gonna work on my tat some more." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a folded white envelope. "Wanted to give you this before I left."

She didn't have to touch it to know it was money. And she'd seen enough to know that any cash that came wadded up in white envelopes had a suspicious source. Her heart skipped a beat as she looked inside. God. It was a wad of $100 bills. "Why are you giving me this?"

He beamed at her. "It's for you. We never officially talked about money, but if I'm gonna live here I wanna help out."

"But we did talk about money," she said, pulling the bills out of the envelope. "I thought we agreed that you'd pay for groceries and I'd take care of everything else?" She looked down at the cash. _This is at least $5,000_. She stuffed it back into the envelope and gave it back to him. "I don't need this."

Juice frowned. "What do you mean you don't need it?"

"I mean exactly what I said. Even if we split everything right down the middle, this is way more than monthly living expenses. Besides, I took care of everything just fine before you started staying here. I don't need this now."

His brows knitted as he leaned back in the chair. "I know you don't _need_ it, but I want you to have it. I'm your man, Kyra. I want to help take care of you."

Jesus, why did he have to start with this shit? Hadn't things been working just fine as they were? With him doing whatever he did outside of her house and letting her take care of the rest? Had she ever asked him for anything or given him any indication that she was the kind of woman who accepted large, unexplainable amounts of money? She had a degree in accounting, for Christ's sake. He had to know she was smarter than this. She ran her hand over her mouth and sighed. "Look, Juice. I grew up seeing shit like this every day. Girls comin' into the salon, spending their boyfriends' cash. Then the men get busted and the feds seize all their shit. Do what you want with that, but don't roll in here offering it like it's some kinda prize. I don't want that kind of care.'"

Juice jumped out of the chair. "So what the fuck am I supposed to do, Kyra?" he boomed. "Sleep here, eat here, and fuck you on some free ride like a goddamned gigolo?"

"Dude, what the fuck are you talkin' about? The money you give me for food is fine. Why the fuck is this even an argument?"

"Because you knew what you signed up for when we started all this. _You_ said you were okay with the club shit. I didn't force any of this on you…" He paused, revelation flashing over his face. "Oh. I get it. It's okay when I'm threatening to kill some shithead to keep your ass safe, but my money is too _dirty_ for you? I'm supposed to just stay here, live off dead mommy's six-figure inheritance with you and get rid of the bad guys like a fuckin' guard dog."

_Dead mommy_. She was off her feet and marching toward him before her mind could process the words. Every inch of her skin burned as she pushed at his forehead with her index finger. "Muthafucka don't you _ever in your life_ talk about my mother like that—"

Then she realized exactly what he'd said. Six-figure inheritance. The only people who knew how much money her mother left her were Neeta and her mother's attorney. She scanned her memory in vain, searching for a moment where she may have shared that knowledge with him, but she knew there wasn't one. As a rule, she never discussed her money. The anger that surged through her body was replaced with a sense of dread. How the fuck did he know about the inheritance? She stepped backward. "What did you just say?" she asked in a voice so calm that it shocked her.

"You heard me," he barked back. "I said I didn't force any of this—"

"No, no, no. After that. What you said about my inheritance. Where'd that come from?"

In seconds his eyes went from angry to confused to nervous. "Wha-what do you mean where'd it come from?" he stuttered. "You told me your mom left you money."

He was busted. For what, Kyra didn't know, but they both knew she'd caught him in a lie. She shook her head. "No, Juan. I didn't. So I'll ask you again: _where the fuck did that come from_?"

She was hot on his heels as he turned his back and walked toward the living room. What the hell had he done? Opened her mail? Why? And why was he acting so suspicious about it? "Oh, so you gon' act like I didn't just ask you a question?"

He stood in the center of the room, running his hands over his Mohawk with a pained expression on his face. Whatever he'd done to find out about the inheritance, he didn't want to tell her, which led Kyra to believe it was bad. She planted her feet and folded her arms. "Do not make me ask you again."

Juice cast his eyes to the ceiling before settling them down on his feet. "I looked into some of your shit a while ago," he mumbled.

Looked into some of her shit? What the hell did that mean? And how long ago was "a while"? "You looked into _what_?"

His eyes stayed down as he reached up and rubbed his neck. He let out a heavy sigh before looking up at her face. "Just some background shit," he said with a shrug. "It's really not a big deal."

"The fuck?" Kyra shook her hand. "You don't get to tell me how big of a deal this is. _What_ background shit? And how did you get it?"

"What I do, for the club—" he started. "I hack databases. Before we hooked up, I umm… I looked you up—"

He'd been kicked out of Cal Tech for breaking into the system and changing grades, so his ability to get into high-security databases wasn't a shocker. The fact that he hacked into her private information sent her through the roof. "You did WHAT? Why?"

His shoulders slumped in defeat. "I had to know if you were who you said you were," he all but whispered.

Kyra's heart pounded in her ears. She couldn't believe this shit. He'd known everything about her from the very beginning and spent the last five months pretending that he didn't? She looked up at the ceiling and exhaled, hoping that the action would bring about some sense of calm. It didn't.

"So let me get this straight," she started, sitting down on the couch. "I want to know something about you, and I have to tiptoe around the question and just _pray_ I'm lucky enough to get a straight answer. You wanna know something about me and you can go _behind my back_ and get all your questions answered? _Then_ live in my house and smile in my face like it never happened? Is that how this works?"

"Kyra, I had to. For the club—"

"No!" She lept up and he stepped back a little, but she got right in his face; so close that she could actually see the sweat trickling down his forehead. He wore the same clueless expression he had the day he fucked up her dishwasher. She wanted to slap it off his face. "Don't you _dare_ give me that club bullshit! You didn't fucking _lie_ to me for the last five months for the club." She stopped a moment and her voice got calm again. "The premise of all this," she waved her hands in front of him, "is trust, right? I'm supposed to trust you and trust your club with my safety. Hell, with my _life_, correct?"

She'd humbled the words out of him. All he could do was nod. 

"So tell me how_ THE FUCK_ I do that, knowing that you can live under my roof every fucking day and lie to me? Huh? How does that shit work?" Kyra didn't realize the weight of the words until they left her mouth. 

Then she felt it. The familiar sensation of heat rising from her toes to the very top of her head, ready to explode. Her knuckles tingled and angry tears burned the back of her eyes. She was going to hit him; punch him square in his fucking jaw. She blinked and swallowed hard, willing the reaction away. "Get out," she growled.

She prayed he didn't try to stutter out some ridiculous explanation because she didn't know how long she could keep still. She blinked again and when she opened her eyes, she saw the question on his face and answered his thoughts. This time, her voice more steady and human. "You heard me. Get the fuck out of my house. Now."


End file.
